


It's a Stud Thing

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Knotting, M/M, Self-Lubrication, Slurs, Worldbuilding, biological determinism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: Steve is an A-17. He’s always been an A-17. It’s a bland way of saying it, a government label meant to make it innocuous, but actual studs and bitches call each other studs and bitches, so. Government ain’t gonna change that.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 192





	It's a Stud Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags. This isn't ABO, but it has similarities in terms of biologically determined sexual dynamics, a level of "I am drawn to you whether I like it or not," and *cough* self-lubrication. If you hate ABO, I suspect you won't love this.

Steve is an A-17. He’s always been an A-17. It’s a bland way of saying it, a government label meant to make it innocuous, but actual studs and bitches call each other studs and bitches, so. Government ain’t gonna change that. 

When Steve was young, he ran from his nature. He used cologne, he schooled his face bland whenever he encountered a stud, he got falsified papers. As a sickly man, his scent was never particularly strong, anyway, nor was the desire. The super-soldier serum, Steve thought, would cure him. It didn’t. And what’s worse, the serum jacked his scent up to 11, set the few studs in the room to growling. Peggy Carter pulled her pistol in reaction to the sound, and then someone  _ else _ pulled a gun and shot Dr. Erskine before running off with the serum. Peggy got a few shots off, but he was too fast to hit dead on. Fortunately, the serum  _ did _ make Steve both healthy and  _ fast _ . He ran off before the studs could track what was happening, trusting Peggy to handle them. 

Here’s the thing about studs. The motherfuckers are horny  _ all _ the time. There are women, a few different designations of ‘em, that they can actually breed up. But bitches come in all genders. Those like Steve are meant to give the studs something to take their aggression and their dominance out on when no female bitches or other compatible designations are fertile. 

So as soon as he’d chased down the Nazi agent, Steve followed Agent Carter to an S.S.R. outpost office and accepted a medical-grade scent blocker. 

S.H.I.E.L.D., by contrast, tells him that the scent blockers are unsafe and illegal, that all designations have protected rights now. That G-35s are less volatile than they were in Steve’s time, that there are social norms and expectations. They won’t believe in a right to mount him whenever they damn well please, Fury’s saying if Steve reads between the lines. 

Here’s the thing. Tony Stark? He’s a G-35. 

And Tony Stark is  _ such  _ a fucking stud. Also, Steve’s still a bitch, specifically one without his blockers, standing at the back of a modern jet airplane with Stark in his red-and-gold armor and Steve’s briefs getting wet even as he forces himself not to back down to Tony’s immediate mild insults. When Tony insults him, it makes his dick hard.

The thing is, Steve knows damn well Tony can smell it. His eyes flash when he meets Steve's gaze, like he's holding himself back from claiming Steve for his pack immediately because there are societal standards about these things. Or maybe just because they’re in a cramped quinjet with several other people and an alien criminal. Or maybe just because it would be too hard for Tony to get out of his shiny metal suit and fuck Steve in front of all these people. 

“There’s a lot of things Fury doesn’t tell you,” Tony says, raspy-smooth and casually sure of himself. Steve hates him for it. And he  _ wants _ him for it at the same time. 

But then the God of Thunder lands on the plane, saving Steve from getting embarrassing and begging Tony to mount him. He gets so  _ needy  _ without cock, now that he’s healthy. In the war, he had several of the Commandos, but on the helicarrier, he’s alone and any stud could smell it.

Anyway, the team is busy for a while.

Later, back on the helicarrier, Steve pointedly  _ doesn’t _ think about what it would be like to be kept in a glass cage like Loki, held back for his stud. Well… studs. They aren’t typically monogamous. It’s normal to keep a pack bitch, or at least it was in his time.

He doesn’t know whether Tony Stark has pack, and he’s too busy arguing with him to ask. The problem is, Steve almost  _ wants _ to give in. He’s known Stark for a few hours, and already even as they fight, he’s thinking about Tony ending this whole charade, filling Steve’s guts up with his big dick. He licks his lips and Tony notices.

He can’t believe the man hasn’t thrown him down yet. He has  _ remarkable _ control for someone whose scent is that strong, that dominant. And Steve knows desire-scent is pouring off him in waves, he can’t help it. Tony does snarl at the other dominant types, though he’s the only stud on the team or among the nearby agents. But he keeps his hands off Steve, even when they’re nose to nose, Steve straining not to bare his throat to Tony.

A literal explosion shouldn’t be a relief, but…

When the fight’s over, and the adrenaline crash is so heavy Steve wouldn’t even be able to get it up for Tony, Tony directs him to guest rooms in an undamaged part of the Tower. He expects Tony to follow him into the suite, and he’s almost shocked when he doesn’t, just says goodnight.

Steve jerks himself off  _ so  _ hard after.

He shouldn’t like being ignored, but there’s something that twists in him at being available but  _ unused _ . 

The flirtation continues. It escalates even, but Tony never closes the gap, never pushes the issue. He never forces Steve over the kitchen counter or a common-area sofa. He never forces his dick into Steve’s hole, either. 

Steve shouldn’t be so goddamn disappointed.

He lasts six weeks.

After six weeks (and three days) of no overtures from Tony but also no scent of another bitch lingering on Tony’s body to ward him off, Steve shows up on the floor Tony’s temporarily occupying while the penthouse is repaired. He’s seriously fucking desparate, and he knows he smells like it. Tony’s eyes flash dark with heat, but he doesn’t approach. Doesn’t demand. He raises his eyebrows.

“Did you need something, Cap?”

Steve just stares, incredulous. But Tony obviously isn’t willing to cross the line until he can say it out loud. Steve whines in the back of his throat, possibly the most bitch-like thing he’s ever done. He tilts his head back for a moment, exposing so much skin to bite. Tony doesn’t take the bait, and so Steve finally looks back up and says it. “Please, Tony. Fuck me.”

And then it’s like a switch flipping. Any lingering doubts Steve’s had about whether Tony is actually attracted to him are immediately extinguished when Tony stalks forward, slamming into Steve’s body and still moving, backing him into the elevator doors. “Are you gonna present for me?” Tony whispers in his ear, and Steve tries to sink to his knees right there.

“No, not yet, puppy,” Tony corrects him, tugging up on his arm. “Come into my bedroom. C’mon. Want you comfortable when I knot you.”

Steve’s already leaking, his dick trying to bust out of his jeans. He thinks he may actually break the zipper. Here’s the thing. He’s hooked up a couple of times in the past six weeks. But no one fucks like a stud fucks, and there were no studs in Steve’s immediate vicinity at S.H.I.E.L.D., and Steve isn’t so ungracious as to come into Tony’s home smelling of another pack. So this is the first time Steve’s gonna get nailed by a stud in the 21st century, and that’s just not  _ fair _ . 

Steve likes no one knowing that he’s a bitch but his pack, that’s the best way of it, and being public is hard and he’s glad people don’t downright disrespect him. Of  _ course _ that’s better. But still. All these social graces mean that he paradoxically  _ can’t _ get a stud, because Tony wouldn’t have him for  _ weeks _ , not until Steve begged, and he’d almost rather they all be on him than this desertion. He used to consider himself exceptionally strong, but he was really just sick and lacking in desire because of it. He could never abstain for so long in  _ this _ body. 

Steve’s very quickly realizing just how much he needs to be treated,  _ specifically _ , the way Tony treats him, a way that most other types wouldn’t understand but Steve’s physiology is designed to crave. Technically he can fuck around with, even submit to, other dominant designations, but there’s a reason why the designational system is so complex and has so many subtypes. Everyone needs something different, and the best way to get it is with someone of a complementary type. Unlike some of the other designations, for Steve’s type, there’s only one true match.

“All you had to do was ask,” Tony purrs as they enter his bedroom, scraping his facial hair along Steve’s smooth jawline. Steve never grows body hair. That’s just his biology. “I’m not cruel.”

Steve whimpers, because maybe he  _ wants _ Tony to be, and the stud gets it instantly. He twists Steve, throws him towards the bed on his stomach. Steve has to cooperate a lot, given his size, but that’s not a problem. Tony pins him with one hand and undoes his belt buckle with the other. He whips the leather out of the loops so fast it makes a zipping sound, and then shoves Steve’s jeans down his thighs. Oh shit, he  _ did _ break the zipper, Steve realizes. And the button popped free of its hole without any help. He blushes deeply, but Tony’s not paying attention. He lifts Steve’s hips with his hands, making him present, and gets his cock out. Steve braces himself and pushes his ass up even more, offering himself to Tony. 

He’s dripping.

It’s a special “feature” bitches have, just like the knots on the studs that would tear most designations. Bitches get sloppy and loose, did so even before the invention of synthetic lube. For some people, it’s a kink, but for studs, it’s a requirement.

“Present for me, bitch,” Tony growls. His scent floods the air, and Steve whimpers and leaks some more. He pushes his ass up, arches his back, braces his forearms, hangs his head. Tony slaps Steve’s ass a few times. “You want that knot?” he asks rhetorically. Steve shoves his ass into the descending hand. “God, you’re so hungry for it, it’s been so long… I’m gonna  _ break  _ you on my knot, sweetheart,” Tony groans before he pushes the knob of his cockhead in. Steve’s panting, lurid, bearing down to let more in. 

“Good bitch,” Tony growls, feeding it into his ass.

Truth be told? 

Steve’s  _ missed _ this. Any concerns he had about fitting into the twenty-first century—instantly alleviated. 


End file.
